Noir: The Conspiracy
by Rose Colored Mirrorshades
Summary: One who was thought dead has returned to seek her vengeance, and a mysterious force is manipulating them all from the shadows once again. This is my first story, please read and review.
1. Resurrection

**Chapter 1: Resurrection**

**By Rose Colored Mirrorshades**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the anime Noir nor do I make any claim to that effect. I write this fanfiction due simply to the fact that I was dissatisfied with the ending of the original Noir. I believe that there should have been more, and as such I have merely picked up where the story last left off. I will accept criticism of a constructive nature, however I shall not abide flamers and the like. Please enjoy.**

**Somewhere between Spain and France; 2100 Local Time**

The sound of whirring helicopter blades filled the air as well as the subtle yet unmistakable whine of a jet engine preparing for departure. A bald man dressed in a black suit stood perched atop a cliffside overlooking the progress of a myriad assortment of technicians, workers, and various others who were scouring the site before him. A few moments later, two men in white coverall utility suits carrying a stretcher upon which a feminine form rested approached him from behind.

The front man called to him, "Sir," at this the man dressed in black turned around and stared at them from behind a menacing pair of mirrorshades, "Is this her sir?" as the front man said this he removed the sheet covering the face of the cadaver.

The man dressed in black nodded yes and then turned back to survey the scene. The two men clad in white loaded the body onto the waiting jetcopter behind him. As they did this the man in black removed a phone from his pocket, the screen came to life and he pressed a few buttons. A few seconds later the screen flashed the message "SATELLITE UPLINK ESTABLISHED". Upon seeing this message he dialed a number into the phone and raised it to his ear.

"They found her sir," he stated into the phone.

"Excellent," came the reply of a cold almost artificial voice on the other end.

"She is en route now and should arrive within the next few hours." said the man in black.

"What of the progress of the cleanup crew?" queried the cold voice.

"They are currently retrieving the last of the artifacts now and the charges have already been set sir." responded the man in black.

"Very well, and the other bodies?" queried the cold voice.

"Already disposed of." replied the man in black, looking at the pile of corpses being set ablaze with flamethrowers.

"Good, and lastly what of the ones known as Murielle and Kirika?" queried the cold voice.

"Unfortunately it appears as though they escaped prior to our arrival sir, as did the council." responded the man in black.

"The council matters little; we shall track them down soon enough. The rogue assassins however, shall prove difficult to find. Make certain that the local populace is eliminated as well. No loose ends." said the cold voice.

"Already done sir, 9324 and 8757 are supervising cleanup operations at the village." replied the man in black.

"Excellent, call me upon its completion." replied the cold voice.

"As you command sir." responded the man in black and with that he hung up and resumed his previous activities.

**Undisclosed Location; 2300 Local Time**

Nestled deep within a subterranean mountain fortress, hidden far from civilization, stood assembled the greatest medical experts in the fields of organ replacement, cybernetics, and reconstructive surgery. Many of said experts were recruited from the highest ranking universities around the world whereas some simply showed an affinity for the surgical procedures required by the organization of which they were now in the employ. The lead surgeon took his place in front of the others that were to participate in the operation that was to come.

"Alright, we only have a 12 hours before the neural tissues are useless; so our first priority is to get the vitals up and stable, that includes the synaptic responses as well." said the lead surgeon, "Well let's get started, every second we waste is one more we don't have. Everyone not involved in this phase of the operation please vacate the area."

With that, more than half of the staff left the room and cart upon which a body rested was wheeled into the room. High above in the operating theatre twelve dark figures quietly observed the events unfolding beneath them.

The sheet covering the body was quickly removed revealing it to be that of a young woman approximately eighteen to nineteen years of age with red hair. Various cathodes and electrodes were plugged into her from all directions. These were primarily life support equipment; however a few were other specialized equipment at which various experts worked.

"Initiate electrostimulous," said the lead surgeon, "Then follow up with the chemical wash."

A technician moved to one of the many carts containing equipment connected to the girl on the table and began flipping various switches. This was met with the hum of electrical devices coming to life. When the screen on the machine indicated that it had attained full power, the technician punched a sequence of numbers into the terminal. The cadaver responded to the surge of electricity with a jolt. The life support machinery briefly flared to life prior to subsiding rapidly indicating that the first attempt had failed.

"Up the amperage by ten percent," came the angered voice of the lead surgeon, "We're not losing this one as well!"

With that, the technician attending the machine turned a dial and repeated the previous procedure. This attempt met with success, marked by the fact that the cadaver was no longer a cadaver. As the life support machinery now indicated, the girl laying upon the table was now quite alive.

The technician manning the life sign monitor shouted enthusiastically, "Heart rate normal, breathing cycle normal, nervous system currently appears twenty-five percent active. Doctor I think we've done it!"

Without warning the seemingly lifeless form sprawled upon the table sprung to life and throttled the medical technician, bringing him down without the slightest difficulty. As she strangled him, two men in black suits entered the room and subdued her with tranquilizer dart guns.

"Impossible!" exclaimed the lead surgeon, "There is no possible way that she managed to regain full consciousness after that much shock! We only just revived her! Get her back on the table, and strap her down this time!"

With that, the two men in black placed the female back upon the operating table and proceeded to strap her thoroughly to it. After this task was complete, they dragged the now dead technician from the room and another took his place.

"Call for the anesthetist," said the lead surgeon, "We don't want her waking up again during the procedure."

A technician walked over to the phone affixed to the wall on the far side of the room and dialed out to another of the rooms. Within minutes, the anesthetist arrived and admistered anethstesia via a breath mask.

Now the work would truly begin...

**I hope you enjoyed this first installment of Noir: The Conspiracy, my personal twist on the ending of the original Noir series. It is meant to be obvious to those who have seen Noir that the girl upon which they are operating is none other than Chloe. It does not therefore spoil my story in any way to tell you this at the conclusion of the first chapter. I do so simply to clear up any confusion prior to introducing her again.**

**Until next time**

**Rose Colored Mirrorshades**


	2. Housewarming Party

**Chapter 2: Housewarming Party**

**By Rose Colored Mirrorshades**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the anime Noir nor do I make any claim to that effect. I write this fanfiction due simply to the fact that I was dissatisfied with the ending of the original Noir. I believe that there should have been more, and as such I have merely picked up where the story last left off. I will accept criticism of a constructive nature, however I shall not abide flamers and the like. Please enjoy.**

**Paris, France; four months later 1300 Local Time**

Kirika sat amongst a vast assortment of boxes stacked atop one another. Some were already opened, whereas others remained closed. The item that she had just withdrew from the box she was unpacking had given her pause. To most it would have appeared as nothing more than a simple pocket watch but to her and Mirielle as well it held special significance. For it was that very watch that had saved their lives only four months ago.

They had since had it repaired and placed within a display case. She set it at a place of prominence atop the mantle of their new apartment. Mirielle was within the kitchen, busily preparing lunch for the two. As Kirika sat upon the floor lost in her own thoughts, she was interrupted by the shrill sound of the door bell.

Mirielle called from the kitchen, "Can you get that I don't want this to burn."

"Don't worry I've got it," Kirika called back, as she arose and stepped toward the door.

Upon opening the door, she realized that there was no one there. However, upon closer inspection she soon discovered that a letter had been taped to the door. It was marked, simply: TO NOIR. Kirika took it and quickly retreated inside, locking the door behind her.

"Mirielle!" she yelled, "Something's come in the mail that I think you need to see!"

"What is it?" came Mirielle's reply, upon this she exited the kitchen carrying with her two steaming plates.

Kirika held up the letter for Mirielle to see and, when she saw it, she immediately placed both plates upon a table in the center of the room and took it from her.

Mirielle opened the envelope and read the contents aloud, "From a friend. Beware the bearer of the flowers as he shall also bear you demise if you are not cautious. He comes soon, if you are indeed Noir then he should prove no match for you. Heed this warning. The number that you may reach me is listed at the bottom of this page. Call it from payphone 5 in the closest metro terminal in one hour. Call no earlier."

"What do you suppose they mean by 'the bearer of the flowers'?" Kirika queried.

"I don't know but something tells me that we're going to find out." replied Mirielle.

No sooner had she finished that statement, then the doorbell rang again. They looked at one another and nodded. They went to the coat rack and withdrew their weapons from the pockets of the coats hanging there. Mirielle approached the door while Kirika took up a vantage point in the hallway just around the corner. Mirielle opened the door with her Walther held behind her in an attempt to conceal its presence.

There in the doorway stood a man in a red uniform, somewhat reminiscent of a bellboy. He carried in his left arm a flower box of similar coloration.

"Well, who are you supposed to be?" inquired Mirielle with a somewhat sarcastic tone.

He wasted no time on pleasantries however. With a seemingly fluid motion he cast the box to his right and in the process withdrew an automatic shotgun from it with his right hand. Mirielle had only just enough time to retreat into the living room before the assailant opened fire, removing a sizable section of the wall behind which she ducked.

As he turned to face where Mirielle had been only seconds before, Kirika stepped forth from the shadowy hallway and opened fire on the assailant inflicting what should have been a mortal wound. All that was heard was simply the sound of a bullet ricocheting off of a metal plate of some form. Kirika ducked behind wall and into the hallway once again.

"He's wearing a vest!" Kirika yelled.

As he turned to face Kirika and destroyed another section of a different wall Mirielle opened fire on him from behind, the bullet striking the back of his head. This was met with the same result however, nothing more than the clang of metal striking metal. Mirielle ran for the kitchen just managing to evade the rapid succession of shots issued from the automatic shotgun. One of these shots shredded a table that had sat against the remains of the left wall. Kirika then jumped from her cover and went into a dodging roll, the next series of shots only narrowly missing her.

She had timed it perfectly, as she was aware that he had just depleted his ammunition. As he reached into his coat to retrieve a new clip, Kirika grabbed one of the forks from the plates on the coffee table and charged him. She stabbed him in the neck, her strike landing almost precisely where his carotid artery should have been. She succeeded only in removing the upper layers of his skin however. But beneath that bloody mess lay something far more interesting, metal.

"What? How is..." Kirika did not have time to finish her statement prior to being knocked down by the man.

While this was happening, Mirielle ran to the remains of the table and from them retrieved what appeared to be a stun gun. With the flip of a switch, a spike protruded from the end of this device. She charged the assassin herself stabbing him precisely where his head met his neck, the spike finding its way into his skull. As soon as she realized this she engaged the power on the stun gun/spike, killing him within seconds.

"Well, that was...interesting." Mirielle stated.

Kirika rose and looked at the shotgun, "So is that,"

"What do you mean?" Mirielle queried.

"Look at the design; that's no ordinary 12 gauge, it's been modified." replied Kirika.

"You're right, it looks almost futuristic." stated Mirielle.

"They know where we are," stated Kirika.

"You're right again," replied Mirielle, "Get your things, we need to leave."

Kirika only nodded, and went to her room to gather her things. She rapidly began stuffing a duffel bag with a seemingly random assortment of clothing and other materials including discs, ammunition, and everything atop her dresser. Mirielle did the same, and on the way out placed the items atop the mantle within her own bag.

"Come on," stated Mirielle, "I know a place that we can hide. But we need to get to the metro station first."

**Paris, France; Metro Station 1400 Local Time**

They had arrived at the station almost fifteen minutes ago only to find it deserted, an odd thing at this time of day. Mirielle checked her watch, it was time.

"I'll be right back." she said simply, "I have a phone call to make."

With that she stepped over to the phone labeled 5, pulled out the letter, and began dialing. Within three rings her call was answered.

"Hello," came a familiar voice, it was none other than Remy Breffort the Soldat she had spoken to so long ago, "I take it from the number on my caller ID that you got the present I sent you."

"You mean that assassin lying in a pool of his own blood right now?" responded Mirielle in a curt fashion, "Or was that one of your cronies' doings? Because don't think that I've forgotten about how you tried to kill us the last time we met."

"There is something I've been meaning to tell you about that, though I doubt that you'll believe me at this point." he replied.

"After seeing a man with metal plates under his skin I'm ready to believe just about anything." she stated.

"Then would you believe me if I said that it was not I that shot at you that night?" he queried.

"That's a little bit farfetched," said she, "What proof do have of this?"

"I can only give you my word," he stated, "And inform you that we face a common enemy, once again."

"I'm listening," she replied.

"That's all I can say for now," he stated, "I will contact you again soon. Check your email when you get the opportunity."

Then, just as soon as the conversation had begun, it ended. Mirielle walked back over to where Kirika was sitting and picked up her bags.

"Well, it seems an old enemy is requesting our aid." she stated, "But we can't talk here, we need to get to our destination."

Kirika responded with a simple nod, and they boarded the next departing metro shuttle.

**Well I certainly hope you enjoyed this installment of Noir: The Conspiracy, my personal twist on the ending of the anime Noir. As you are likely aware, this chapter is a bit longer than the previous chapter. This is because I had a little bit more to cover here. Not to mention, I am simply not good at making first chapters very long. Well, in any event, the next one promises to be of equal or greater length.**

**Until next time,**

**Rose Colored Mirrorshades**


	3. The True Noir

**Chapter 3: The True Noir**

**By Rose Colored Mirrorshades**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the anime Noir nor do I make any claim to that effect. I write this fanfiction due simply to the fact that I was dissatisfied with the ending of the original Noir. I believe that there should have been more, and as such I have merely picked up where the story last left off. I will accept criticism of a constructive nature, however I shall not abide flamers and the like. Please enjoy.**

**Inchon, North Korea; 2400 Local Time**

Two eyes of crimson flared to life and etched their existence upon the obsidian night that surrounded them. A tall feminine form rose silhouetted against the moon in the background. However this silent huntress worried not that she might be seen as she was all but invisible to the unsuspecting prey upon which she was about to descend.

This shadowy figure leapt from her position atop the distant trees and landed upon the soft underbrush without a sound. Just as silently she raced toward her intended target. She stopped suddenly and leapt into a collection of bushes and awaited her instructions.

**Undisclosed Location, Many thousands of miles away**

Three technicians furiously typed away at their work stations. A myriad of computer screens filled the room, each displaying a different set of information. One monitor contained a world map with a flashing red X over North Korea and a box containing lines of code in the lower right corner. Another displayed various windows containing all manner of intelligence on the area, the target, troop movements, and local weather patterns.

"Unit is in position," stated the first of the technicians, "Initiating satellite uplink... linked."

"Uploading data," stated the second of the technicians, "Unit confirms readiness for download... uploading intel... upload complete. Unit commencing download... unit has just sent confirmation that download of intel was successful. Terminating link."

"Target is one Chow So-Lee, General North Korean Army," came the third technician, "It'll be an interesting match this evening."

"Psycho-Rambo Barbie vs. Evil North Korean Dude," stated the first, "Quite a match indeed."

"Psycho-Rambo Barbie?" stated the second in a sarcastic manner, "Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"More like Creepy Assassin Chick vs. Helpless Short Guy." replied the third.

"Alright enough," came the first, "We have to make certain that this connection remains stable, otherwise we'll be out a lot of money."

"We'll be out a lot more than that if this project fails." stated the third.

"Relax," began the second, "If the connection were to be interrupted for any reason her reserve memory would kick in, thereby causing her to continue to execute the last order received."

"And what happens when she completes her objective?" queried the first.

"At that point her programming would compel her to return to base at through the method uploaded or by any means possible in the event that information is not accessible." stated the second.

"In that case," began the third, "We should have little to concern ourselves with save for the monitoring of the unit's actions for aberrant behavior."

**Inchon, North Korea**

Through eyes keener than those of an eagle, the shadowy huntress observed her prey. With but a thought, she altered her sight to include the infrared spectrum. She panned the area and spotted her target, as well as his entourage.

"Target acquired," came her cold, monotone voice which seemed to have an electronic undertone of some form, "Commencing assassination protocols... awaiting authorization."

"Authorization granted," came the voice heard only by her, "Commence with the operation."

"Commencing," she replied.

She then bounded from the concealment of the bushes to the wall of the compound, pressing her back against it. She then lifted her arm, and from the armband thereupon appeared a grappling hook. She aimed the device at the roof of the complex and fired. The only noise heard was the quiet scrape of the hook latching onto the upper railing. The shadow shrouded huntress began her slow, steady ascent to the balcony above.

Upon arriving at the top of the balcony, she detached the grappling hook from the railing and replaced it upon her armband. She then attempted to open the door to no avail, it was locked. She was not to be deterred however. With a click, another useful device protruded from her armband, a set of lock picks. She then began the task of picking the lock, the soft click of the ancient metal lock marking the end of her work.

With her thermal imaging active, it was a simple matter to ascertain the location of her intended victim. She deactivated this second sight of hers and began her approach. She was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, nearly silent though they were. None could deceive her enhanced perceptions. Her black cloak fluttering behind her, she darted into an open closet and closed the door by all but the slightest crack. As she peered through said cracked door, she observed the passing of a North Korean Soldier armed with what appeared to be a submachine gun of some sort.

She withdrew a throwing knife from her cloak. It appeared simple enough to the casual observer, however closer inspection revealed a capsule of some kind where the center hole would usually be. Said capsule contained a black substance of unknown composition. It mattered not to the huntress however, as she was certain that it fell her target.

She awaited the opportune moment to strike; just as he passed the narrow slit that was the crack she had left, she did so. He was dead before he was even aware that he had been struck. She emerged from the shadows and stepped toward the door behind which her prey awaited. As she entered the office she withdrew yet another dagger from her cloak. She approached the desk only to find a chair whose back was turned to her on the other side. She reached over the desk and turned the chair to face her, it was empty.

The sound of a bolt being drawn back caught her attention and she immediately turned to face this new threat. Standing before her was the target that she sought all this time wielding a Desert Eagle.

"General Chow So-Lee I presume," came her cold monotone.

"And I presume that you the assassin sent to slay me?" replied the General, "Just who do you believe yourself to be, intruding on my grounds in such a manner?"

"Noir," she stated without the slightest trace of emotion, her crimson eyes ablaze betraying her inner desire.

"Noir?" Lee stepped back as he said this, his expression one of absolute fear, "That's... that's not possible! Noir does not exist! You can't be..."

He did not have time to complete his sentence prior to being cut down by the somewhat larger dagger the huntress had covertly retrieved while he was hysterically ranting.

"I'm afraid that Noir is quite real," she stated, "And the heart of darkness spares none who witness its fury."

Upon completing her soliloquy she removed her dagger and allowed his corpse to fall. She then made her way to the roof of the complex and awaited further instructions.

**Undisclosed Location, Many thousands of miles away**

"Unit has sent confirmation," stated the first technician, "Mission complete."

"Excellent, the shareholders will be pleased," started the second.

"It's not their critique we should concern ourselves with," interrupted the third, "It's his."

"You are correct of course," stated the first, "In any event, I believe that he will be satisfied with these results."

"Let us certainly hope that is this case," stated the third, "Else all that we have worked for will be for naught."

**Well I certainly hope you enjoyed this installment of Noir: The Conspiracy, my personal twist on the ending of the anime Noir. I am well aware that it became rather dry towards the middle, however this cannot be helped. It was simply due to the fact that it was impossible to state such events in any but the simplest terms at that point. I will work upon this further at a later time, but for now it must remain as it is.**

**Until next time,**

**Rose Colored Mirrorshades**


	4. Paris by Night

**Chapter 4: Paris by night**

**By Rose Colored Mirrorshades**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the anime Noir nor do I make any claim to that effect. I write this fanfiction due simply to the fact that I was dissatisfied with the ending of the original Noir. I believe that there should have been more, and as such I have merely picked up where the story last left off. I will accept criticism of a constructive nature, however I shall not abide flamers and the like. Please enjoy.**

**Paris, France; 2000 Local Time**

The echoing groan of the old door opening could be heard reverberating throughout the house. A flashlight beam cut a swath through the darkness that was the house's interior. Behind this sword of light stood two young women, Mirielle and Kirika.

"I remember the last time we were here," as she said this she shined the light over furniture covered by white sheets, "When we killed Uncle Claude."

"It seems so long ago," stated Kirika, "A lifetime away almost."

"Well, in any event, he still thought of me even in death it seems," stated Mirielle, a trace of sorrow in her voice, "Why else would he have left me the mansion?"

"Will we be safe here?" queried Kirika.

"We should be," stated Mirielle, "No one aside from us even knows this place exists anymore. Especially with Uncle Claude being dead and all."

A nod was Kirika's only response. The two of them systematically searched the house, room by room, until they were satisfied that no assassins awaited them. They then made their way to the car that they left parked outside and retrieved their luggage.

Mirielle dropped her bags upon entering the main room and went to a table at the far corner of the room. She plugged in her laptop and immediately set to work establishing their new base of operations. Upon checking her email she discovered that, as foretold by Breffort, there was an anonymous email waiting for her. She opened the email and perused its contents. Kirika, after having dropped her bags as well, found her way over to where Mirielle sat reading.

"It looks as though he was right all that time ago," stated Mirielle, "When he said that this was far from over. He wants us to meet him at a nightclub tomorrow evening. He also says that this is a matter of the utmost importance. Think we should hear the old Soldat out?"

"It certainly couldn't hurt our chances," replied Kirika, "Especially if what he said about a new threat is indeed true."

"Tomorrow night it is then," stated Mirielle, "I'll make the necessary arrangements."

**Paris, France; Le Baron Nightclub, the next evening 2100 Local Time**

The taxi dropped them off outside the club discreetly, just as Mirielle had requested. This certainly was not the first time she had been to this club, as she frequented many such places in order to obtain information. The guard at the door was not the one who was usually standing post at this hour, as such Mirielle approached him with an air of caution.

The man stopped them at the door and queried, "Are you on the list?"

This was the code question that she had arranged, she therefore responded, "You'll find our reservation under Ms. Bouquet, party of two."

"One moment please." came his reply; he then pressed a button on an intercom system and spoke to someone inside, a moment later he returned and spoke to them once more, "You may enter."

Upon entering the rather small nightclub, Mirielle noticed a roped off staircase leading to the upper VIP lounge. This is where she desired to go.

She whispered to Kirika, "I'll be right back, stay here and make certain that no one comes up behind me."

Kirika simply nodded, and Mirielle proceeded to the staircase where she was stopped by yet another guard.

She stated simply, "I am here to see Mr. Breffort."

"You are Ms. Bouquet, I presume?" he queried.

"Yes I am." she replied.

"Proceed up the stairs and go in the first door on your right," the guard stated, "Mr. Breffort is expecting you."

She did as instructed, pausing briefly on her way up the stairs to give Kirika a nod. The musty smell of cigar smoke filled the air, other guests and socialites stood all around her arguing politics and discussing the flavor of the wine. She slowly opened the first door on the right to reveal a darkened interior with a fireplace providing the only illumination. Two wing-back chairs sat at forty-five degree angles to one another, with a small table bearing a bottle of vintage wine and two glasses between them, before said fireplace.

"Well are you just going to stand there," stated an elderly voice from the other side of the chair on the right, "Or are you going to have a seat?"

"Remy Breffort," stated Mirielle, "And here I thought the Soldats were supposed to be at the very heart of power, yet we are meeting in a nightclub. Have you truly fallen so far?"

As she said this she made her way over to the left chair and took a seat.

"So where are all of your friends?" she continued, "I remember there were at least four others with you that evening."

"They are all in hiding," stated Breffort, "As for me, I have a business to run and I cannot run it from behind the scenes as my compatriots do."

"I know that you didn't call me all the way here simply to discuss Soldat politics." she replied.

"Actually," replied Breffort, "That is exactly why I summoned you here today, to discuss Soldat politics."

"And what do you mean by that?" inquired Mirielle.

"You recall, of course that the Soldats have various... factions," he replied, "Well one of those factions has elected to secede from the order and has proclaimed itself independent."

"Really," stated Mirielle, "Now why would they go and do something like that?"

"Because," he replied, "They have a new leader, and... a new power base."

"What exactly do you mean by that?" she queried.

"I can't say anymore," he replied, "As that is all that I know at this time."

"You still haven't explained what happened the last time we met," she stated, "Why we were attacked."

"We believe that it was this new faction that engineered that attack," he replied, "As we were attacked as well. The bullets fired were intended for us, not you."

"So you mean to tell me that the infighting amongst the Soldats has escalated to the point of overt action against one another?" she queried.

"I would not put it past them to act in such a manner." he replied.

"So, what do you intend to do about it then?" she queried.

"A simple question to which I pose another," he stated, "Do you intend to assist us in this endeavor?"

"I am not certain Mr. Breffort," she stated, "I believe it would be prudent to hear your plan prior to making any decisions."

"Very well," he replied, "My plan is quite simple you see, provide you and you partner with the means to remove all of this faction's supporters in Paris and allow you to do so. You can expect our full cooperation in this matter should you elect to assist us."

"What manner of support are you offering?" she queried.

"Access to our black market connections, intelligence that we gather, and of course you would be compensated adequately for your efforts." he replied.

"Very well," she stated, "We accept your offer Mr. Breffort."

"Excellent," he replied, "I will contact you via email and provide you with all the details you shall require."

The sound of gunfire was heard emanating from downstairs. Mirielle removed her Walther from her purse and stepped toward the door.

"Friends of yours?" she queried in a somewhat sarcastic tone.

"I don't recall inviting them." he replied in a similarly sarcastic fashion.

She made her way downstairs only to find that Kirika had already taken care of the situation. Four men lay face down in pools of their own blood all around her in various places and a fifth could be seen hanging from a light fixture by his tie.

"Well, I see that you've made some new friends," Mirielle stated sarcastically, "Care to introduce us?"

"I don't think they're very talkative right now." Kirika replied.

"That's too bad," Mirielle stated, " And I was hoping that they might have some information for us to. Oh well."

"We need to leave," stated Kirika, "Before their friends decide to show up."

With that they exited the nightclub, walked a couple of blocks away, and flagged down another cab. It would be a long evening.

**Well I certainly hope you enjoyed this installment of Noir: The Conspiracy, my personal twist on the ending of the anime Noir. I must say that I am pleased with the outcome of this chapter, as it accomplished everything I hoped it would. Simply for those of you who will look up that sort of thing, I feel that I should tell you that Le Baron is indeed a real nightclub. I simply googled a list of Parisian nightclubs and chose the one that I thought had the most appropriate name and description. As for the details given within the story itself, I have seen no pictures of it nor is my description of the club accurate to the best of my knowledge. I apologize for the lack of action for those of you who prefer that sort of thing as opposed to heavy dialogue, but it could not be helped in this segment of the story. I must also warn you that it is likely that there will be other sections of the story that are also somewhat lacking in action. I would ask that you remember that this is story about conspiracy, and believe me when I say that you will never guess the ending.**

**Until next time,**

**Rose Colored Mirrorshades**


	5. Misha

**Chapter 5: Misha**

**By Rose Colored Mirrorshades**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the anime Noir nor do I make any claim to that effect. I write this fanfiction due simply to the fact that I was dissatisfied with the ending of the original Noir. I believe that there should have been more, and as such I have merely picked up where the story last left off. I will accept criticism of a constructive nature, however I shall not abide flamers and the like. Please enjoy.**

**The outskirts of St. Petersburg, Russia; 0200 Local Time**

A single shot shattered the stillness of the tranquil evening. Said shot was perfect; perfectly aimed, perfectly executed, and perfectly deadly. The intended target never would have expected his assailant to have been over a kilometer away, but such was the power of the equipment carried by this particular sniper.

Behind the scope of a .50 caliber sniper rifle rested a single luminescent red eye. The eye, and the rifle with it, rotated ever so slightly to the left and right to survey its work. The primary target lay face up in a pool of his own blood, the remains of a head still feebly clutching to the corpse. The others, guards, waiters, and innocent bystanders all scurried about as though they were ants caught in the glare of a magnifying lens.

The rifle was lowered to reveal a man in a dark trench coat with a similarly dark fedora obscuring his entire form save for that one red eye on his right side. This tall, dark, and somewhat menacing figure began to disassemble the rifle and place its pieces into its respective case. When he had completed this task, he closed the case and began his descent down the hillside to the car waiting below.

He threw the case into the trunk of said vehicle and slammed it closed, knowing that there were no others to hear his noisy departure. He started his engine and backed out of the brush in which he had parked. His car then sped down the road into the city. The silence of his drive was interrupted by the ringing of a phone built into the dashboard. He reached over and retrieved it, pressing a flashing red button on the console as he did so.

"You are having reached Misha Ptrovitch," came a voice with a heavy Russian accent, "I am not being in right now, but if you are caring to leave message..."

"I do not share your humor Misha," replied a computer synthesized voice on the other end, "Nor do I appreciate your avoidance of my calls."

"Ah, if it not being my old friend," stated Misha, "Why are you having contacted me directly? That is not being like you."

"Events are moving more swiftly than I had previously anticipated," responded the mechanical voice, "Proceed to the cathedral and await further instructions."

"What, you are not wanting to meet in person?" queried Misha sarcastically.

"Proceed to the cathedral," replied the voice, "I was instructed to say no more."

"Very well," stated Misha, "Misha out."

He placed the phone upon the hook and continued driving. In the distance could be seen the city, less than two kilometers away now. Already the spires of the cathedral were visible.

**St. Petersburg, Russia; St. Petersburg Cathedral 0230**

The glare of two headlights could be seen entering the parking lot, but little else was visible through the sheen of snow that characterized the evening. A grey sedan pulled in, parking in the first available space. The lot was all but empty, save for the few vans that were property of the church itself.

A dark figure characterized by a trench coat, fedora, and one glowing red eye stepped out of the vehicle. He made his way to the cathedral and began to surmount the steps to the large, aged wooden doors at the top. He stepped into the shadows off to the side of said doors, obscuring his eye with a pair of darkened sunglasses. He removed a cigarette and lit it, awaiting the arrival of his contact.

Almost an hour and several cigarettes later, another sedan pulled into the parking lot. Out stepped two men in similar attire to Misha. One carried a briefcase, the other what appeared to be an MP-5. Both approached the cathedral and stepped into the shadows where Misha awaited them. The red glow of their eyes could be seen creeping around the edges of their own sunglasses, illuminating the grey skin upon which it fell.

"Agent 932," came the mechanical voice of the man carrying the briefcase, "You are instructed to report to Moscow immediately following this conversation. Once you have arrived you will proceed to the destination provided."

As he spoke he set down the briefcase he carried, sliding it to Misha, who in turn retrieved it.

"Am I being recalled?" Misha queried.

"We are not certain." replied the messenger, "It is safe to say that you will no longer be operating exclusively in Russia, however."

"I suppose that I will be seeing you around then." stated Misha.

"That is unlikely." replied the messenger, "However, should you ever find yourself in this area again we are obligated to assist you."

"Da, I will be going now." stated Misha.

And with that they went their separate ways, each climbing into their respective vehicles and driving into the night. Misha pulled off to the side of the road, parking the sedan there. He then emptied the contents of the briefcase upon the passenger seat. Amongst the various papers there were contained several false passports, maps, and a brown packet labeled: ORDERS. He opened this packet and pulled forth from it a sheaf of papers and began to peruse them.

Upon one of papers contained therein, was a set of electronic confirmation passes for a series of airports. A sheet of paper stapled to said confirmations revealed his final destination, which he was to reach via private helicopter.

"It is going to be a long night." he stated in Russian.

**Well I certainly hope you enjoyed this installment of Noir: The Conspiracy, my personal twist on the ending of the anime Noir. For those of you who desire such knowledge, no Misha is not an original character. He is based upon the character Misha from Spandau Phoenix by John Grisham. I rather enjoyed said book, and I highly recommend it to any who enjoy conspiracy stories. Suffice it say, the Misha portrayed here and the Misha from Spandau Phoenix share the same history. Although for purposes of this story I have advanced his timeline by a number of years in order to place him at an appropriate age. If you wish to know his history, I advise that you read the book. However, for those of you who do not wish to, worry not I shall reveal pieces of his past in subsequent chapters.**

**Until next time,**

**Rose Colored Mirrorshades**


	6. The Arsenal

**Chapter 6: The Arsenal**

**By Rose Colored Mirrorshades**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the anime Noir nor do I make any claim to that effect. I write this fanfiction due simply to the fact that I was dissatisfied with the ending of the original Noir. I believe that there should have been more, and as such I have merely picked up where the story last left off. I will accept criticism of a constructive nature, however I shall not abide flamers and the like. Please enjoy.**

**Undisclosed Location; 0800, Local Time**

The ghostly glow of a projector was the only light to be seen within the darkened room. A large elongated oak table dominated the center of the room. At this table sat twelve men, their faces obscured by shadow. At the head of the room, standing next to the projector screen, was a man clad in a white lab coat. Displayed upon the screen was what appeared upon initial observation to be no more than a simple anatomical chart. However, this particular chart contained various enhancements in addition to the standard array of tissues and organs.

"Good morning gentlemen," stated the man clad in white, adjusting his glasses as he did so, "As most of you are already aware, my name is Dr. Haltroven. My purpose here today is to instruct you with regard to the investment that you have contributed to over the previous six months, or if you truly ponder it the last few years. In either case, it has culminated in the package that you see before you."

"That is still not explaining what it is being," came a heavy Russian accent, "Or why we should be continuing support of it. We are not having seen results."

"I believe that the conclusions drawn from this video footage will be adequate." responded the scientist.

He removed a remote control from his pocket and instantly the image upon the screen altered itself to that of a first person view of the silent assassin's exploits in North Korea.

"As you can see," continued the scientist, "Our recent improvements to the process have yielded considerable results. We estimate that her reflexes, strength, and response time have all increased by a factor of twenty or more."

"Tell them what else I had you install." came a familiar cold voice at the head of the table.

"Of course sir, I was just getting to that," stated the scientist, "There are a number of experimental devices and implants within her as well. These include but are not limited to: vision enhancement in the form of infrared and ultraviolet imaging, enhanced hearing allowing her to hear through walls if needed, and exponential regenerative capacity allowing her to recover from even the most grievous of wounds."

"According to these papers," came a voice with a British accent, "There are a number of external devices that the unit wields as well. What can you tell us about those?"

"Well," stated the scientist, "Over the previous few years, our research and development teams have designed and perfected a number of tools. Among them are the devices that I am passing around now."

As he said this, he retrieved a cardboard box from the floor next to him and began removing various devices and passing them around to the members of this meeting.

"What is this?" inquired one of the shadowed figures, holding an armband out as he examined it, "There appears to be some manner of lock picking set within it."

"Press the button on the wrist and hold it down for three seconds." stated the scientist.

He did so and was amazed to discover that an entire assortment of tools and picks of various sorts were deployed to receive his commands. Others appeared to focus on the four knives that were being passed around.

"What is being with the knives?" asked the same Russian voice that had previously denounced the project, "Guns are seeming to be logical choice, like with other units. You are spending all of our money and this is being the best you can come up with?"

"Use of firearms would run contrary to the unit's previous training," replied the scientist, "And beyond that, weaponry of that sort is not particularly silent nor is it easily concealed even with the use of silencers. I am reminded of an old proverb as well: blades do not require reloading."

"Tell us more about these knives," came the British voice, "Why are there four different varieties? Would not one style of knife be sufficient?"

"Each of the blades you are currently examining has a special property," replied the scientist, "That black ichor inside the one that you are holding is in fact an ultra-powerful neurotoxin. The recipient of that rather nasty little surprise would be dead before they realized that they were hit."

"And what of the others?" inquired the same voice, "What properties do they possess?"

"The knife with the red dot in the center contains a high yield explosive, easily twice the power of C-4 but half the size. As for the knife with the blue dot in the center, when discharged it radiates an intense electromagnetic pulse disabling nearby electronic devices."

"And what about the fourth knife," inquired another voice, "It appears larger than the others."

"That one is the unit's primary weapon." replied the scientist, "It is intended to allow her to engage in melee combat. While the others are simply steel throwing knives, that one is composed of a titanium alloy ten times the strength of steel and fortified by carbon bonding the molecules together. It has been nanotechnologically forged to have an edge only a few atoms thick."

"I am not having been sufficiently impressed," came the Russian voice again, "I am of opinion that funding should have been appropriated to P series clones not this one assassin. I am therefore withdrawing my support for this project."

"I am sorry that you feel that way," came the cold voice at the head of the table, making a motion with his hand as he did, "They were simply prototypes for the unit you now see. The primary unit will be most displeased."

"I am not caring what primary unit thinks..." his words were cut short as a poisoned throwing knife plunged into his throat.

"I do hope that there are no further objections," stated the cold voice, an uncomfortable silence was the only reply.

"Excellent," he stated, pressing a button upon the phone next to him, "Ms. Peters could you send in Mr. Totrotsky please. Could you send in a cleanup crew as well?"

"Right away sir," replied the phone in a feminine voice.

Within seconds, a tall Russian entered the room. Taking notice of the corpse in the seat, he nervously swallowed and stood awaiting instructions.

"Mr. Totrotsky," came the cold voice, "Your employer has just been terminated, and you are to take his place. He made the mistake of crossing me; certainly you will not be so careless?"

"Of course not sir!" replied the man standing in the doorway, soon after he said this two men clad in black uniforms entered the room, retrieved the body, and departed with it.

"Then please, take your seat." implored the cold voice at the head of the table, the man did so.

"Gentlemen of the board," the cold voice addressed the, "I have also recalled an existing augmentation project in order "partner up", if you will, with the primary unit."

"If I might ask," came the British voice inquiringly, "Whom have you appointed this task to?"

"Misha," the cold voice replied simply, this was met with a bustle of voices in varying accents and dialects; he silenced them with a wave of his hand, "Put quite simply, he is the most experienced agent we have. I have thought long and hard with regard to this decision. He shall make an excellent instructor to our new pupil."

"But what of his previous allegiances? He has been somewhat of a loner in the past." came an American sounding voice, "Are you certain that it is wise to entrust him to instruct one that we are already uncertain of in these matters?"

"That is the last remaining issue that I wished to address," stated the scientist, clicking the remote as he did so to reveal an anatomical cross-section of the assassin's head where the section of the brain had been circled in red, "What you are seeing, gentlemen, is a neural inhibitor that has been placed within the unit's skull. We have isolated and "blocked out", for lack of a superior term, all memories of her existence prior to our custody."

"Would that not void her previous selection of skills?" inquired the British voice, "That would have rendered her unable to perform the feats shown in the video you just displayed, however."

"Quite the contrary," replied the scientist, "You see, the human brain is designed thus: skills are located in a separate portion of it than memories. Therefore, this inhibitor prevents her memories from resurfacing while preserving her skills. With minimal training, she has been thoroughly indoctrinated into our organization."

"This is thanks in no small part to the advent of the technology located here," he continued, indicating a section at the base of the skull circled in green which was connected by a turquoise line to another section deeper in the brain circled in blue, "This is a data port allowing us to directly interface with the unit. This enables us to upload various programs to a hard drive located in the section circled in blue. There is a satellite antenna located subdermally in top of the unit's skull as well, allowing us to remotely send commands as well as other useful data to her."

"Quite impressive," came the American sounding voice, "Are there any other candidates for the procedure? We could certainly use some of our own..."

"In due time," replied the cold voice, "I have two other prototypes planned prior to streamlining the process for mass production."

"And who are they, might I ask?" inquired the American, I would certainly hope that they are as impressive a choice as this specimen."

The man at the head of the table made a motion with his hand toward the scientist. The scientist clicked the remote to reveal upon the screen two photos, Mirielle on the left and Kirika on the right. Below them was one word in bold black print: NOIR.

"Why, one of the primary unit's next targets of course," replied the cold voice, "The infamous Noir. She is, after all, the true Noir."

**Well I certainly hope you enjoyed this installment of Noir: The Conspiracy, my personal twist on the ending of the anime Noir. I do so love conspiracy stories. The plot thickens, little by little, and it shall culminate in a greater twist than you ever imagined at the end.**

**Until next time,**

**Rose Colored Mirrorshades**


	7. Alex

**Chapter 7: Alex**

**By Rose Colored Mirrorshades**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the anime Noir nor do I make any claim to that effect. I write this fanfiction due simply to the fact that I was dissatisfied with the ending of the original Noir. I believe that there should have been more, and as such I have merely picked up where the story last left off. I will accept criticism of a constructive nature, however I shall not abide flamers and the like. Please enjoy.**

**Parisian Underground, France; 0800 Local Time**

"…investigating the source of multiple shooting deaths at the Le Baron nightclub. We are still uncertain as to the motive behind the killings. It has recently come to our attention that closed circuit television footage of the area was accidently deleted following the incident. More information as it arrives," stated the almost cheerful voice of a female news anchor.

Said newscast emanated from one of a series of screens lining a wall in the otherwise darkened room. The others contained within them all manner of programs and applications, ranging from recovery of deleted items to digital enhancement software. A lone figure sat before the megalith of machinery and wiring, typing a series of commands.

"The bubblehead bleach blonde who comes on at five, she can tell you about the plane crash with a gleam in her eye," sang the man sitting before the computer, "It's interesting when people die, give us dirty laundry."

A message appeared upon one of the screens on the right reading "RECOVERY COMPLETE". This prompted another program to initiate upon the screen below it. Surveillance footage from a closed circuit television camera outside the Le Baron nightclub appeared within the border of the program. Two young women could be seen exiting the club amidst the chaos.

"They're getting sloppy," stated the man, "They didn't even bother to wipe the system when they were done."

A few seconds of typing saw a border form around the aforementioned two young women in the video. Their faces were enlarged and then digitally enhanced. Another series of commands was typed resulting in a compiled database displayed upon another monitor flaring to life. After mere moments of searching, the screen displayed the message: "MATCH FOUND".

"That was quick," stated the man, perusing the results, "Mirielle Bouquet, the driver's register shows her last known location to be… that apartment that was shot up a few months back. Very well, what of Kirika Yumura then? School records show that… she moved out of country sometime last year. Damn it this is going to be slightly more difficult than usual, better brew some extra coffee this time."

**The Riviera, France; 1200 Local Time**

Two young women walked the streets of Paris, blending in but never truly assimilating with the culture thereof. The sounds of life were ever present, the exchange of goods, the shuffling of pedestrian traffic, and the rush of motor vehicles. These two women sat at a table atop a scenic overlook above the Riviera. Their silence was broken by the abrupt ringing of a mobile phone.

"Hello?" stated Mirielle in response to the unidentified caller.

"Ms. Bouquet," replied a male voice on the other end of the line, "You are most difficult to get into contact with."

"That's because I don't give out my mobile number to just anyone," she stated, "Now, since you are calling my work number I assume that this is a business call?"

"Noir," replied the male voice.

"Who are you?" stated Mirielle, a surprised expression crossing the contours of her face, "And how did you get this number?"

"Meet me underneath the Eiffel Tower in six hours," he replied, "All will be made clear at that time."

**Eiffel Tower, France; 1800 Local Time**

Mirielle and Kirika sat upon a bench at a bus stop awaiting the arrival of their mysterious contact. At precisely 1800, a man clad in a black trench coat and sunglasses approached them. Kirika kept her hands in the pockets of her pullover sweatshirt while Mirielle observed this newcomer warily.

"You two are most difficult to track down," stated the man, "Ms. Yumura, if you would be so kind as to remove your hand from the firearm that you are concealing in your right pocket as I am currently unarmed myself."

Kirika removed her hands from her pockets as she and Mirielle stood to address the unknown man.

"First meetings warrant introductions," stated Mirielle, "And as you seem to know far more regarding us than we do of you, I think it would be appropriate to at least divulge your name."

"Not here," he replied, "It's not safe, follow me."

He began to walk toward a nearby in the direction from which he had come. Mirielle and Kirika followed closely behind. As they entered the alley, they approached a sewer grate.

"You must be joking," stated Mirielle, "The sewers?"

"If you want to know what's really going on, you'll follow." he replied.

**Parisian Underground, France; 1830 Local Time**

After navigating the maze that was the Parisian sewers, they at last arrived at a small room. Upon entry, the man shed his overcoat to reveal that he was in fact quite smaller than first glances would lead one to conclude. The unknown man took a seat at the before a myriad assortment of cables and monitors, beckoning Mirielle and Kirika to enter the room.

"Alright," stated Mirielle, "We've played your little game long enough. Who are you, and how do you know us?"

"Alex Jacobson," he replied, "Infiltrator of information systems. Now, I have a question for you. Does the name Breffort mean anything to you?"

Before Mirielle could respond, their conversation was interrupted by a series of beeps emanating from the console. One of the many screens contained the text PROXIMITY ALARM beneath the image of a black suited man walking through another section of the sewers.

"Shit," stated Alex, "It looks like we were followed. Thankfully, I've a few tricks that should stall him."

He rapidly keyed a successive series of commands into the console. The deafening roar of an explosion permeated the air as debris from farther down the tunnels began to form a cloud of dust choking the air.

"That should keep him occupied," stated Alex, "At least long enough for me to whip out the big guns."

"Are you insane?" queried Mirielle, "You could have brought down the whole street around us! And for that matter, you probably did around him!"

No sooner had she spoken than the scraping of metal against stone was heard issuing forth from the pile of rubble that lay before them. Slowly the man that Mirielle had thought dead only moments ago rose from the piles of stone that lay around him. His suit was in tatters, as was his skin, revealing metallic sub dermal plates and two menacing glowing red eyes.

Mirielle and Kirika opened fire upon the assailant, but to no avail as their bullets simply ricocheted from his seemingly impervious metal plating. All the while Alex fumbled through a box stored underneath his desk in an attempt to retrieve some as yet unknown item. The assassin raised an MP-5 and was beginning to take aim when at last Alex spun around and hurled an object through the air.

Said object affixed itself to the assailant and a flash of blue light engulfed him. The assassin collapsed, immobile, his eyes slowly losing their previous luster. Kirika approached him, kicking the MP-5 away as she did.

"What in the hell was that?" queried Mirielle.

"Electromagnetic pulse grenade," replied Alex, "I was hoping that they weren't shielded against that as well."

"You mean to tell me that you had no idea as to whether or not that would actually work?" queried Mirielle.

"Well," replied Alex, "Not in so many words. But enough about that, we need to get out of here before they realize that their drone failed. Do you have a place we can go?"

"As a matter of fact we do," stated Mirielle, "However we need to make certain that we don't leave a trail."

"Let me worry about that," replied Alex, "I've already got a plan in motion."

**Paris, France; 1945 Local Time**

The city was alive with the mesmerizing glow of its many lights, the very sight of which could be called an eighth wonder of the world. This orchestra of colors and vibrancy was interrupted by a flickering of said lights. It was slow to rise but soon engulfed the entirety of the downtown area. One by one, in a cascade failure, the lights were dying. Two young women and a young man stood atop the balcony of a mansion on the outskirts of the city observing the power outage.

"So, how do you like it?" queried Alex.

"I was hoping for something less dramatic," replied Mirielle, "But, since this is your first time working with us, I suppose it'll do."

**Well I certainly hope you enjoyed this installment of Noir: The Conspiracy, my personal twist on the ending of the anime Noir. With new enemies come new obstacles, as well as new allies to assist in overcoming those obstacles. The conspiracy continues.**

**Until next time,**

**Rose Colored Mirrorshades**


	8. Noir 2

**Chapter 8: Noir 2.0**

**By Rose Colored Mirrorshades**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the anime Noir nor do I make any claim to that effect. I write this fanfiction due simply to the fact that I was dissatisfied with the ending of the original Noir. I believe that there should have been more, and as such I have merely picked up where the story last left off. I will accept criticism of a constructive nature, however I shall not abide flamers and the like. Please enjoy.**

**West Berlin, Cold War Era Germany; 0200 Local Time**

The muffled conversation of two paramedics speaking with a police officer in German could be heard amidst the wail of police and ambulance sirens. A man clad in a trench coat and fedora lay strapped to a stretcher behind them.

"…severe damage to his right hand," stated one of the paramedics stoically, "It appears as though his right eye has been injured as well, however we cannot be certain to what extent as of yet."

"So," queried the other paramedic in a forced whisper, "Who is this guy anyway, another rapist?"

"No," replied the officer, "He's Russian by the look of him. And since the military is involved, I would say there's a possibility that he's KGB."

**Madrid International Prison, Spain; several days later, 1200 Local Time**

A lone light bulb hung from the ceiling as the sole source of illumination in the otherwise darkened room. A man wearing a white prison uniform sat at one end of a plain wooden table, his right hand hidden beneath it and his right eye concealed behind an eye patch. With his left hand he drummed his fingers upon the table's surface.

The door to the room opened and two men in suits stepped in, one carrying a briefcase. They took seats opposite the prisoner, opening the briefcase and removing several sheets of paper from it.

"Good afternoon Mr. Ptrovitch," stated one of the men in a cool tone, "I do hope we haven't kept you waiting too long."

"Who the hell are you?" queried the prisoner in a heavy Russian accent.

"We are here to make you a proposition Mr. Ptrovitch," stated the suited man, "We believe that you will find our terms to your liking."

"What are you being, some kind of lawyers?" queried the prisoner, "My country will not be letting me sit in this prison and rot. Extradition treaty…"

"…clearly states that matters of an intelligence related nature are to be handled by the host country," the suited man finished for him, "And since Germany isn't really a country but more of territory divided amongst several other countries and the part you were in being U.S. soil… you see where I'm going with this. Face it Mr. Ptrovitch, the KGB isn't going to bail you out this time."

"So," replied the prisoner, "What is it that you are wanting to discuss?"

"We represent certain… interests that wish to solicit your particular talents," stated the suited man, "You would be well compensated of course."

The prisoner then lifted his right hand to reveal it to be heavily bandaged.

"The doctors are having told me that this hand will never function properly again," he stated, "And they are also having told me that I will be blind in right eye for rest of my life. My question to you is being simple: what possible use could you be having for assassin who is blind in dominant eye and whose trigger finger is being paralyzed?"

"Let us worry about that," replied the suited man, "Will you accept the contract we are offering?"

"What are being terms?" queried the prisoner.

"Your service in exchange for your freedom," replied the suited man, "In addition to a number of other 'perks' that our organization offers. All you need do is sign this paper and we can absolve you of all legal liability Mr. Ptrovitch."

"Misha," replied the prisoner, "My name is being Misha."

**Undisclosed Location, Present Day; 1000 Local Time**

Misha awoke from his reverie to find himself within the passenger seat of an all terrain vehicle. They were approaching an electric fence bordering a desolate mountain in a forgotten corner of the earth. The driver had stopped the vehicle so that they might present their identification to the paramilitary trooper standing at the checkpoint before the fence.

"There is being no place like home," stated Misha.

**Undisclosed Location; 1030 Local Time**

Footsteps could be heard echoing down a drab hallway. Two men in suits could be seen walking down said hallway, one carrying a briefcase. They conversed as they approached a door at the end of said hallway.

"I still don't trust him," stated one of the men.

"Regardless," replied the other, "He is our most experienced field agent."

"That does not mean that I approve of his methods," stated the first.

"It's not our decision," replied the second, "You saw what happened to the last man that opposed him. Based on that alone, I think that our employer must have at least a reasonable grasp of what he's doing."

"I hope that you are correct," stated the first, "I do not wish to have another renegade on our hands."

"You were at the briefing," replied the second, "She's nothing but a shell of her former self."

"And he's a ticking time bomb," stated the first, "Just waiting to explode."

By this time they had reached the aforementioned door and the second suited man was preparing to open it. The first placed his hand over the door knob to obstruct him.

"Just make certain that you remember that as we brief him," he stated.

He then opened the door to reveal a conference room with a man clad in a dark trench coat and fedora with a glowing red eye sitting at the head of the table. He sat leaning back in his seat with his feet propped up and his hands behind his head appearing quite pleased with himself.

"Well," stated Misha, "If it is not being my old friends. How are kids doing?"

"I have neither the time nor the inclination to indulge you Misha," stated the first suited man, "Now, we have been instructed to brief you on your new assignment…"

"What is being wrong?" queried Misha, "Am just trying to make small talk. And beyond that, is Russia not being good enough anymore?"

"You have been assigned to one of the experimental units Mr. Ptrovitch," replied the second man, "As you are our most experienced agent, it is hoped that you will mentor our latest project as it were."

"Me?" Misha queried, laughing, "A mentor to new agent? You are being joking right?"

"Believe me Misha, I wish that were the case," replied the first man.

"Well," stated Misha, still laughing, "You can be betting that I will be teaching them all about 'proper procedure'."

"Mr. Ptrovitch," stated the second man, "I would advise you to take this seriously. This project is of particular interest to our employer. One slip up…"

"Could be meaning loss of pay, forfeiture of allowances, no X-mas bonus, etcetera," replied Misha, "I am having heard it all before…"

"This time it could also result in termination," stated the first man, "Have you heard that one before? We've already lost several people because they decided that this project wasn't worth the effort, and this prototype can cut through one of the P series agents as though it were nothing."

"I am not being P series clone;" stated Misha, "Do not be worrying about precious project. I will be taking good care of him…"

"Her," replied the second man, "This one is female."

"Really?" queried Misha sarcastically, "So you are throwing old dog a bone, eh? Very well, I will be taking good care of _her_."

"I'm glad to see that we see eye to eye in this matter Mr. Ptrovitch," replied the second man, "You are to meet with her shortly."

**Undisclosed Location; 1100 Local Time**

A young woman lay upon an inclined table viewing a screen upon which various images of fight scenarios played. She stared blankly into said screen as Misha and his two escorts stepped into the room.

"Meet Project X-212," stated the first man, "Otherwise known as Noir 2.0, she has an upgraded version of the firmware you possess."

"What is this being?" queried Misha, "Some kind of training simulator?"

"The unit undergoes intensive training within this simulator in order to maintain her combat prowess," replied the second man.

"Remove her from it," stated Misha.

"Misha that would defeat the purpose of the simulator…" began the first man.

"I am taking her on real assignment," interrupted Misha, "These simulations will not be helping her in long term. And with targets that you are wishing us to pursue, she will be needing better training than this."

"Very well," replied the second man, making a motion with his hand toward a mirrored window, "We were instructed that you were to take charge of her training, and as such we will leave you to it."

The screen powered off and slowly retracted itself from the table revealing the feminine form of the huntress upon it. Her crimson eyes flared to life amongst the gunmetal grey backdrop of the room around her.

"Who are you?" came her cold monotone.

"My name is being Misha Ptrovitch," replied Misha, "And I am to be facilitating your training it appears."

"Very well," was her only reply.

**Well I certainly hope you enjoyed this installment of Noir: The Conspiracy, my personal twist on the ending of the anime Noir. I realize that this chapter may seem a bit dull compared to the others, however I believe that it is of great import to establish the relationship between Misha and Chloe. I also felt it necessary to elaborate upon Misha's history as I had previously promised. I assure you that the next chapter will be far more dramatic.**

**Until next time,**

**Rose Colored Mirrorshades**


	9. Setting up shop

**Chapter 9: Setting up shop**

**By Rose Colored Mirrorshades**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the anime Noir nor do I make any claim to that effect. I write this fanfiction due simply to the fact that I was dissatisfied with the ending of the original Noir. I believe that there should have been more, and as such I have merely picked up where the story last left off. I will accept criticism of a constructive nature, however I shall not abide flamers and the like. Please enjoy.**

**Paris, France; 0200 Local Time**

The creaking groan of ancient wooden planks was evident as a young woman walked across the floor. It was not typical of her to remain awake this late, however she had found herself unable to many things in a typical fashion as of late. She made her way in a sluggish, methodical manner down the stairway leading to the mansion's basement. Upon reaching the door leading into said basement, she opened it ever so slowly, not desiring to wake its occupant should he prove to be asleep himself. Much to her chagrin, the young man who was the cavernous room's occupant was in fact quite awake and had already noticed her arrival.

"A night owl as well I see," he stated in a rather amused tone, "I didn't ping you as the type."

"Appearances can be deceptive," she replied, "In any event, what are you doing awake this late?"

"A number of things," he cryptically replied, "Speaking of which, I have a few new toys for you to play with."

She raised her eyebrow, "You've peaked my interest, please continue."

"As you have likely deduced," he stated, adjusting his glasses, "If I am capable of tracing your phone calls, our opposition should have no trouble doing the same."

He turned his swivel chair, opening a drawer in the desk before him. His office, if it could truly be called such, remained littered with boxes from his haste to retreat from his former base of operations. He had set up no more than a laptop, printer, and a few other items on his cluttered desk space at this point. From the drawer he retrieved two cellular phones, offering them to Mirielle.

"These lovely little things operate on a different frequency range than most standard phones of their type," he stated, "They will forward all calls to a redialer via an encrypted wavelength. Speaking of which, I have an errand that I need one of you to run if possible."

"What precisely do you need?" she inquired.

"A few items to make certain that we are not traced," he replied, "It was a far simpler task to maintain secrecy below ground. However now that I have relocated, even this far away from the main thoroughfare, I need to make certain that we remain undetected by their surveillance measures."

"There has been something bothering me Mr. Jacobson," stated Mirielle with an underlying tone of suspicion, "How is it that you seem to know everything that they are planning? It is as if you are a step ahead of them at every juncture."

Alex smiled at that, "I was wondering when you would begin to make inquiries as to my background. After all it would not suffice for me to be a mere hacker."

Mirielle returned the casual smile by donning one herself, "You seem to know everything regarding everyone, a regular intelligence genius. How is it that you are not working for a government agency? What drives someone with your talents underground?"

"Would you believe boredom?" he chuckled.

"Not a chance Mr. Jacobson," she replied, still an air of humor about her voice, "You know far more than you are leading us to believe."

"Please, simply call me Alex," he stated, "Mr Jacobson seems a tad formal don't you think? Are you certain that you desire the truth?"

"I think it only fair considering that you are well aware of our history," she replied, "After all, what possible harm could it do you at this point? You were already exposed once, they are aware that you are working with us, and from what I have gathered from you they seem to know quite a bit more. Perhaps there is more to be gained by sharing our resources as opposed to keeping them separate."

"The reason I am so aware of their plans, capabilities, and overall reach is..." Alex trailed off as though he was contemplating whether or not to comply with her request, "I was a member of their support staff a few years back. I found after a time that it was no longer to my liking, and opted to leave."

"However it was not that simple I surmise," replied Mirielle, her expression altering to a more neutral tone.

Alex only smiled, "It never is," he stated, "Within a day the office at which I had worked was ransacked, however I was long gone by then. I continued to monitor their transmissions, hack their databases and others in order to maintain my cover."

"How did you survive?" inquired Mirielle, more out of curiosity than concern, "You must have had some manner of income in order to continue as you did."

"Information is the name of the game," he indicated his equipment with a sweeping motion, "People of all types require it on occasion, and I happily broker it to them."

"So you were a thief," she stated rather matter of factly, "You stole information and sold it to the highest bidder."

He feigned shock, "You grossly underestimate me," he replied, "I illicitly retrieved data, this much is true, however I did not simply sell it all. No, I made certain that it suited my own purposes first, then what remained was disseminated amongst my customers, for a fee of course."

"What prompted you to find us? Let alone join us against them." she inquired.

"I have my reasons," he replied, "Breffort and I have been in regular contact since first I learned that his order was divided into factions as it is. He emailed me recently with a job offer, the rest I am certain you can figure out."

"So that's it then?" she queried further.

"For the most part," he replied, "Now, for the items I shall need."

**Paris, France; 1200, Local Time**

Outside a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, a young woman sat inside a large truck as the last of a set of crates was loaded onto said truck. The shrill noise of the departing forklift's reverse alarm alerted her to the fact that the loading was complete. After allowing the forklift a moment to back away, she started the engine and began her departure. As she neared the gate to the warehouse, a phone within her pocket began to ring.

"Yuumura," she answered simply.

"Kirika, it's Alex," came the reply.

"Yes?" she queried.

"Something has come up," he stated, his voice somewhat hurried, "I have need of some additional items."

"Location?" she replied.

"Downtown," he stated, "In a storage locker, I'm uploading directions to your phone as we speak, simply follow them and retrieve a set of aluminum cases from the locker."

"Understood." was her only reply.

**Paris, France; 1800, Local Time**

The better part of the day had been spent unpacking the materials that Kirika had retrieved. Curiously, the aluminum cases that she had been sent for had been locked. This seemed to concern both she and Mirielle slightly, however they paid it no heed for the present. Alex assisted them in relocating the various boxes and crates inside the mansion in as discrete a manner as possible, though this proved hardly necessary due to the fact that their relative seclusion facilitated no onlookers. Once inside the cellar, Alex opened one of the crates to reveal its contents.

"You sent us out for chain link fencing?" inquired Mirielle incredulously.

"It has its purpose," replied Alex, "As do the other items I had you retrieve."

Amongst the crates' contents were various miscellaneous construction items including tools, nails, and what appeared to be a some manner of thick foam-like substance divided into sheets. Alex retrieved a stick of chalk from one of the crates and began marking off sections of the floor as though to designate areas to be remodeled.

"Do you not think that perhaps you should ask the lady of the house prior to starting a new building within it?" queried Mirielle, a slight annoyance evident in her tone.

"What is the purpose behind this?" queried Kirika, her own voice remaining neutral.

"If I may," stated Alex, "I am establishing a secure area within this cellar. The purpose of the chain link is twofold. On the one hand, it provides a certain amount of physical security to any assets we desire remain secure, such as weapons and computer equipment. On the other, by surrounding my workspace with it I am able to insure that no signals leak out that may be detected by our enemy."

"And that?" she indicated the foam within one of the other crates, "It looks a bit like memory foam. What is it?"

"That," he replied, "Will render the room entirely soundproof when I have applied it to the walls."

"Why all of this security?" queried Mirielle, raising her eyebrow one more, "You act as though we are fighting against the government."

"We are," replied Alex, his tone losing all traces of humor, "You see, these people have their fingers in nearly every pie imaginable. They have access to resources making them the equivalent to nearly any government on the planet save the major powers. In addition, their leaders occupy some of the most influential positions in multiple governments across the globe."

"I suppose then that we have our work cut out for us." stated Kirika.

"I suppose that we do indeed." stated Mirielle.

**Well I certainly hope you enjoyed this installment of Noir: The Conspiracy, my personal twist on the ending of the anime Noir. I apologize again for the lack of action, however once again I felt that there were elements of the background that needed to be covered prior to proceeding with the intended plot. In addition, I desired to make certain that this story is not rushed in any way.**

**Until next time,**

**Rose Colored Mirrorshades**


	10. Cloak and Dagger

**Chapter 10: Cloak and Dagger**

**By Rose Colored Mirrorshades**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the anime Noir nor do I make any claim to that effect. I write this fanfiction due simply to the fact that I was dissatisfied with the ending of the original Noir. I believe that there should have been more, and as such I have merely picked up where the story last left off. I will accept criticism of a constructive nature, however I shall not abide flamers and the like. Please enjoy.**

**Somewhere over Belgian airspace; 2230, Local Time**

The steel plating of the aircraft's hull did naught to disseminate the distinct rush of air from the exterior as it continued its rapid transit. Seated within the rear of the military cargo plane, a feminine form and a notably larger masculine one appeared to be conversing. The male garbed in a fully enclosing trench coat, fedora, and mirrored sunglasses; the young woman dressed in a cloak that swallowed her entire form save he top of her head, revealing only her blood red eyes and braided pink hair. The female maintained a withdrawn attitude despite her companion's eagerness to engage her further.

"You are remembering nothing at all then?" queried Misha, "You are not recalling how you came to be in our employ at all. Is that not bothering you in any way?"

"That is correct Mr. Ptrovitch," came the woman's cold reply, "I recall no more than my designation and mission parameters. This fact concerns me little, as I have no need for further information. All relevant mission data has already been uploaded."

"You are missing point," stated Misha, "Memories are defining us, they are being essence of who we are."

"I fail to grasp the concept you are referencing Mr. Ptrovitch," she replied, "My sole purpose in existence is the completion of my assigned mission. Any further debate regarding this matter is meaningless and will serve no purpose."

"Misha," stated the Russian, "My name is being Misha. Please do not be calling me 'Mr. Ptrovitch', is making me sound old." he smiled a bit, he glowing red lens beneath his mirrored sunglasses showing slightly, "Besides, is not being years, is being mileage."

"Very well, Misha," she replied, continuing her neutral monotone.

"Being on that note," he continued, "What is being your name?"

"Designation X-212, N series prototype..." she replied prior to being abruptly cut off by Misha.

"No," he stated, "Your _name_, what is it being?"

"I..." she seemed uncertain as to how to proceed, "That information was not uploaded. I fear your query was in error."

Misha merely smiled once more, "I am having access to your file, it is having proven a most interesting read."

"If there is relevance to this, I suggest you state it now." she snapped in reply, her eyes narrowing as she spoke.

"I was merely attempting to determine how much of your mind was being damaged," he continued, "Your real name is being Chloe, is that having any meaning to you at all?"

"None whatsoever," came her icy reply.

"I hope you are not minding if I am using that as point of reference," he stated, "X-212 is simply being too bulky a term. Let us be keeping things simple, yes?"

"You may refer to me however you desire," she replied, "It matters not to me."

"Very well, Chloe," he stated, continuing his somewhat sarcastic grin, "We had best be getting ready, the drop will be going soon."

"Indeed," she replied, her neutral expression never faltering.

**Belgian countryside; 2300, Local Time**

Two forms descended from the inky black void that was the sky over Belgium that evening. The only sound heard being that of their chutes being detached as they landed upon the soft rolling green hills. Said figures were clothed in full, black as pitch bodysuits, their outlines nigh indiscernible against the darkness that surrounded them. After curtly gathering their chutes, they proceeded toward the nearest road, some half a kilometer away.

"We are having hit target zone," stated the more masculine of the two in a Russian accent, removing his ski mask and goggles to reveal himself to be Misha, an eye patch covering his otherwise overt prosthesis "Excellent, now is simply a matter of finding package."

The other removed her mask as well, revealing herself to be Chloe "Package?" she queried.

"Da," stated Misha, "You are not expecting us to be walking to Brussels on foot are you?"

"Brussels?" she queried, her voice having a slight irritation to it "Our intended destination was Trier, Germany. Why has the mission profile been altered?"

"You must be learning to adapt more gracefully Chloe," Misha chuckled lightly, "Missions are being fluid things, always changing."

"Your deception does not adhere to acceptable parameters," Chloe stated, her annoyance at her instructor's methods becoming more evident, "The mission we were to execute was in Trier, not Brussels. What is the purpose of this deviation?"

"Sightseeing," he replied sarcastically.

"Your attempt at humor has been noted, however that is an emotion of which I am devoid," she stated, her tone becoming colder with each syllable, "What is the true reason behind this?"

"As I am having stated," began Misha, "Things change, mission profiles alter, sometimes on the fly. You cannot always be relying on a computer to be doing the job for you. There are being times when intelligence that is being received is false, you must be being prepared for this."

"In the unlikely event that that did occur," stated Chloe, "The new mission parameters would be dispatched to me via the uplink that I maintain with central operations."

"Hypothetical situation," stated Misha, "Let us assume that central computer is experiencing... technical difficulties."

"Of what nature?" interrupted Chloe.

"Of a sort being enough to render central operations unavailable for support," he stated, "Now, hypothetically, let us be saying that mission parameters change unexpectedly. What is being your response to such a situation?"

"Logically," she replied, "I would need to seek other methods by which to establish communication with central operations. Until that parameter had been met, I would be unable to proceed."

"You are being unable to raise central," he continued, "You receive intel from another source that is indicating your target is having moved to an entirely new location."

"How reliable is the source?" queried Chloe.

"Assume that source is being reliable enough," stated Misha, "Your information is being accurate."

"The logical course of action would be to pursue the lead until mission completion." concluded Chloe.

"What if you had been unable to gather this information without first ceasing your attempts to contact central?" queried Misha.

"It is fully possible that both conditions could be fulfilled simultaneously," she replied, "I might simply set my uplink to continue to ping the remote server whilst I attempted to gather further intel on the situation as it developed."

Misha simply grinned, "You are learning quickly," he stated, "The purpose in our coming here was to be demonstrating that the information you are receiving prior to a mission from central may not always be as accurate as you are being led to believe."

"You are insinuating that central would intentionally mislead us." she more stated that queried.

"There is always being more to big picture than you or I will be understanding," he replied, "However, is reason that most operatives die young."

"I fail to understand your line of reasoning," she stated.

"Is being simple," he continued, "Most are not realizing that they are being expendable."

"Yet you are not," she stated, "Curious."

"Nyett, nyett," he replied, "I am being far from non-expendable. In fact, is being more likely that I will be undertaking more dangerous missions than others, as I am having proved that I know of their intentions and my own limits."

By this time they had reached a ditch on the side of the deserted road, Misha indicated a parting in the trees. Upon entering this section of the forested area, they happened upon a clearing in which a black sedan was parked. Said sedan had no markings aside from a simple Belgian license plate. They walked around the back of the car, stowing their backpacks within the trunk. They continued their conversation after returning to the front of the vehicle and entering it.

"In that case I fail to understand central's logic," she stated, "Would not the intentional withholding of information relevant to a mission not hinder it?"

"Again," he replied, turning the ignition and starting the vehicle "You are not grasping bigger picture. Supposing information provided allows agent to be deducing that they are likely to die in process of completing mission."

"Orders are to be followed without inquiry," she stated flatly, "Else the hierarchy may be disrupted."

"That is being attitude of P series clones," he stated, beginning to drive away "However for those of us with enough foresight, and minds of our own, we are not being so easily fooled."

"You mean to imply that the will to survive supersedes and or overwhelms one's duty?" she queried, her tone taking on a slight of anger.

"I am meaning to state," he replied in an exceedingly calm manner, "That objectives can still be being completed without terminating an agent in the process, at least in most cases."

"You present a scenario in which both parties are appeased," she stated, her voice returning to a neutral tone, "How may this be achieved?"

"That is depending on agent," he stated, and with that their conversation ended, at least verbally.

Chloe turned to forward to face the road, allowing what Misha had stated to assimilate. It was some time before they spoke again.

**Well I certainly hope you enjoyed this installment of Noir: The Conspiracy, my personal twist on the ending of the anime Noir. Admittedly, I have been somewhat fond of dialogue as of late. However I am of the opinion that an exceeding verbose story is perhaps better than one without words at all.**

**Until next time,**

**Rose Colored Mirrorshades**


	11. Odessa

**Chapter 11: Odessa**

**By Rose Colored Mirrorshades**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the anime Noir nor do I make any claim to that effect. I write this fanfiction due simply to the fact that I was dissatisfied with the ending of the original Noir. I believe that there should have been more, and as such I have merely picked up where the story last left off. I will accept criticism of a constructive nature, however I shall not abide flamers and the like. Please enjoy.**

**Grozny, Chechnya; 0800, Local Time**

A balding, middle aged man sat amongst strangers in an outdoor cafe. The bustle of pedestrian traffic surrounding him. He was dressed quite plainly, an overcoat obscuring most of his form beneath its all encompassing presence. One could scarcely assume it based upon his unobtrusive appearance, however he was one of the most powerful men in the known world.

He raised a coffee mug to his pursed lips, taking yet another drink of the warm beverage. Upon setting down the mug, he reached into his coat pocket, retrieving a small metallic case and lighter. A thin wisp of smoke, nigh indistinguishable from the surrounding vapor in the air exhaled by the man himself, issued forth from the cigarette. Glancing at his watch briefly, the man continued to patiently bide his time until he was approached by two young women clad in heavy winter attire.

"Mr. Burke," stated a voice that he recognized from a previous telephone call, "Good morning, I am quite pleased that you could make it on such short notice. We spoke on the phone, I am..."

"Mirielle Bouquet," stated the man to the blonde haired woman opposite him, "I knew your father once, a good man."

"We hardly have time for pleasantries," stated the other woman standing parallel to Mirielle, "Every minute we spend here is one more for them to trace us."

"Of course Ms. Yumura," stated Burke, turning to her with a casual smile, "You know I may never refuse a pretty young woman."

"You have it then?" queried Mirielle.

"But of course," replied Burke, "I owe Breffort that much, he and I go back a long way you know."

"I'm certain you do," stated Mirielle, a smile crossing her face, "However I am certain that it would be best for all involved that we keep this short."

"Of course," replied Burke, reaching beneath the table and retrieving a briefcase, "I believe you shall find everything in order."

"I am certain that we will," stated Mirielle, taking hold of the handle and lowering said case to her side, "Thank you for your time Mr. Burke."

"Please, do come again," stated the older man, waving his hand in a casual fashion, "And send Breffort my regards."

**Grozny, Chechnya; 1000, Local Time**

The sound of furious typing filled the otherwise silent, stale air of the hotel room. After approximately ten minutes of searching the laptop's memory, unfamiliar characters began to fill the screen. Mirielle sat, puzzled by them, but nonetheless satisfied that she had initiated the program correctly. A window abruptly opened after a series of command prompts flashed across the screen, a familiar face followed accompanied by the backdrop of their basement.

"Good morning," Alex yawned from half the world away, "Or is it evening over there as well? I always did have trouble with time zones, particularly in Europe."

"Good morning to you as well, Alex," replied Mirielle, "Mr. Burke was quite forthcoming. He furnished all of the details as requested, for a price of course."

"That much was to be expected," stated Alex over the secure VLAN, "How much did he ask for?"

"The price of man's life," replied Mirielle, perusing photos in one of the files she had retrieved from the case she had obtained earlier, "And given the nature of the man in question, I believe it to be a fair deal indeed."

"Who's the mark?" queried Alex, visibly sipping on mug of coffee.

"Hans Stroeber," she replied, dropping a black and white photo upon the table of a man clad in an SS uniform, proudly standing before a swastika emblazoned ensign, "Former officer of the Third Reich turned fugitive. See what you can dig up on him while I make reservations."

"Oh?" queried Alex, "Where are you off to then?"

"Argentina," she replied, "To find the remains of Odessa it seems."

**Cordoba, Argentina; 2400, Local Time**

Mirielle and Kirika's silent departure from the jetliner was accentuated by the utter lack of people of any sort within the confines of the airport terminal that evening. Soon after reaching baggage claim, they found their way to an unmarked car awaiting them within a mostly vacant parking lot. Kirika studiously examined various slips of paper contained within a manilla envelope, setting a few to the side as Mirielle drove. The silence was soon broken by the all too familiar chirping of Mirielle's mobile phone.

"You know, in most countries they have laws against this sort of thing," she stated into the receiver as she held the phone to her ear, "I'm driving you know."

"Then I suppose we're just lucky that you happen to operating in one of the few that doesn't," came Alex's predictably sarcastic response, "In any event, have Kirika retrieve the laptop from her duffel bag. I have intel for you."

"Kirika, get the computer and standby for download," Mirielle stated, "What do you have for us Alex?"

"Maps, charts, aliases, the whole nine," replied Alex, "It took some doing, either this guy has adapted remarkably well with the times or he's getting some serious help."

"What leads you to that conclusion?" queried Mirielle.

"Just trust me on this," the reply was delayed slightly indicating hesitance, "Someone is covering for him, I am simply uncertain as to who."

"What do you know?" she queried.

"Nothing for certain as of yet," he replied, "However be on your guard, he is certain to have assistance in one form or another."

By now, Kirika had fully erected the laptop and was offering a USB cord to Mirielle. Mirielle held the phone out, depressing a button to switch on speaker mode. She then offered the side where the cord might be inserted toward Kirika who promptly inserted said cord. A faint chime was heard followed by a series of beeps and whistles indicating that the mobile had successfully integrated with the computer.

"Commencing upload," came Alex's voice over the speaker component, "Standby to copy."

"Download initiated," stated Kirika, striking a button upon the console resulting in a green progress bar springing to life upon the screen, "We are receiving."

"You should have the full file within a matter of minutes," stated Alex, "While we are waiting on that, I have a bit more to share with you."

"Such as?" queried Mirielle, raising an eyebrow.

"I managed to isolate one of our enemy's servers, with a bit of assistance," he stated, "It proved quite an interesting read before they locked me out and started running a traceroute on me."

"Did they find you?" queried Kirika, concern crossing her voice for a moment.

"They didn't have the opportunity," he replied, "I managed to get a name out of it at least, Majestic. Ring any bells with either of you?"

"None," stated Mirielle, "I am not familiar with a 'Majestic' of any sort."

"Nor am I," stated Kirika, "I have never heard of them."

"Well that seems to be what they call themselves at any rate," he replied, "I have yet to find any reference to it outside of what Breffort has told me though. I'll continue to look into it."

"Do that." stated Mirielle, her tone indicating a slight of perplexity.

"Download complete," stated Kirika, "It appears as though everything made it over alright."

"Excellent," stated Alex, numerous windows opening upon the screen as the mouse began to move of its own accord, "Hope you don't mind if I borrow this for a moment."

"Be my guest." replied Kirika, removing her hands from the keyboard.

"As is evidenced by transactions within the last seventy-two hours," stated Alex, the mouse moving to a window containing a nigh unreadable set of graphs, "One Wilhelm Schmidt just withdrew something in the neighborhood of 3 million dollars from a private account in Peru."

"Schmidt is one of Stroeber's aliases obtained when he murdered a man of the same name in 1946," a black and white photograph of a middle aged man standing against a backdrop of mountains came into view, "By the time anyone was even remotely aware of what had occurred, Stroeber was en route to South America."

"Within the last forty eight hours," a still image of an elderly man entering a black luxury sedan surrounded by several heavy set individuals was displayed, "A man fitting Stroeber's description was seen exiting the city with an armed escort."

"According to every reliable source that I have," a map image appeared next, a small section of it circled in red, "I place him somewhere in this vicinity. Be advised, however, that he has owned that entire area for several years. Therefore, combined with the other facts presented here, it is entirely likely that he is not only aware of your intentions but is prepared as well."

"Lovely," stated Mirielle, "So, what's the good news?"

"I just saved a ton of money by not insuring the car you're driving," stated Alex in a sarcastic tone, "Why save fifteen percent when I can save a hundred?"

"One of these days you're going to have to tell how it is you do all of this." stated Mirielle.

"Let's just say that I'm that damn good." he curtly replied prior to terminating the link.

**Well I certainly hope you enjoyed this installment of Noir: The Conspiracy, my personal twist on the ending of the anime Noir. I am attempting to maintain some semblance of continuity by alternating the chapters in the way that I am. While this has not always led to the most exciting pieces being revealed first, those that are truly interesting shall be seen in due time.**

**Until next time,**

**Rose Colored Mirrorshades**


	12. Bakery Blitz

**Chapter 12: Bakery Blitz**

**By Rose Colored Mirrorshades**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the anime Noir nor do I make any claim to that effect. I write this fanfiction due simply to the fact that I was dissatisfied with the ending of the original Noir. I believe that there should have been more, and as such I have merely picked up where the story last left off. I will accept criticism of a constructive nature, however I shall not abide flamers and the like. Please enjoy.**

**Brussels, Belgium; 0430, Local Time**

A small rat sped away at the sight of a door opening to the otherwise secluded studio apartment. Shadows enveloped every corner of the desolate and sparsely furnished room that lay before the open door. Two figures clad in black stepped into said room, silhouetted by the dim street lamps hanging outside. The area was once more sheathed in darkness upon the more masculine of the two figures closing the door behind them after entry.

"Ah," stated the man, his Russian accent thick, "Is being just like old days, we are having a stake out."

"Stake out?" queried a feminine voice, cold and calculating, "Your attempts at humor are notable Agent Ptrovitch, however..."

"Is not being humor," replied Misha, stepping into the light cast by the moonlit window, "You must be learning to foster patience."

"Is that not the purpose behind the intelligence we receive?" queried Chloe, her features becoming visible as she too stepped into the light, "I do not enjoy these continued delays, nor do I comprehend their purpose. Therefore I would ask that you explain your line of reasoning."

"Is being simple," stated Misha, "Are you recalling what we are having discussed regarding central?"

"Intentional withholding of information," she replied, "I recall every detail, how is that relevant to this scenario?"

"Hypothetical situation is being reality," stated Misha, "The intel we are having received is being false, we are needing to adapt on the fly. For that we are needing new intel."

"I am beginning to surmise that you intentionally misled me from the beginning of this affair," stated Chloe, "And that you will not be satisfied until I have passed some form of test set to your standards."

"What ever is giving you that impression?" queried Misha, his smile stretching from ear to ear.

"You certainly are failing to deny it," stated Chloe without a trace of emotion, "And many of these circumstances conform too conveniently to conversations and scenarios that you have engineered. It is therefore highly probable that you have crafted the entirety of this mission merely to test my capabilities and attempt to instruct me in exceedingly unorthodox methods of mission accomplishment."

"Unorthodox?" queried Misha, chuckling, "Is that what the kids are calling doing it the old fashioned way now? Yes, you are having caught me. Though, it is not being quite as you described. The mission is being real, I am having simply modified aspects of it that you are typically taking for granted."

Chloe looked to the street below, her gaze darting between the various and sundry small stands before the row of shops lining the side of the road. Hundreds of people, all sleeping soundly behind doors that provided only the illusion of security, for no place on heaven or on earth could truly be safe from her. Misha moved to the window, placing a cigarette to his lips as he removed a zippo lighter emblazoned with a red hammer and sickle from an unseen pocket on his trench coat. Igniting the flame upon it, he held said lighter to the awaiting cigarette and began to inhale.

"Are you having a plan yet?" he inquired.

"As the senior operative, that is your responsibility," she stated, turning towards him, "Barring the establishment of contact with central, of course."

"Would not be being much of a test if I were to be doing all of the work now would it?" he replied, taking another drag from the cigarette and smiling, "I am wanting to know your assessment of the situation. What would _your_ plan be entailing?"

"I would surmise that based upon our proximity and location relative to the storefronts below that one of them is likely to contain our targets," she stated, he gaze returning to the street below, "Based upon the network usage I detect emanating from the central most structure I further conclude that the bakery is a more precise fixation on their coordinates."

"You are being able to access network activity?" inquired Misha, raising an eyebrow incredulously, "That is being one hell of an upgrade, are you being able to access Facebook with that as well?"

"The fullest range of internet access is available to me while within range of any network," she stated, her answer taking on a somewhat mechanical tone, "Beyond that they failed to encrypt their transmissions, resulting in my uninhibited access to the entirety of their network."

"Why were you not telling me this before?" he queried, taking another drag on the cigarette, "This is being an invaluable intelligence gathering tool."

"You never asked," she stated coldly, "Beyond that, as you have indicated on numerous occasions, the intelligence that I have come to rely upon is not necessarily accurate."

"That I did," he replied, chuckling, "That I did. This is being intel that you are having gathered on the ground though, making it hot. It is therefore being reliable, be treating it as such."

"I can surmise, based upon the traffic being passed," she paused, seeming to be lost in thought for a moment, "That our target is one Sergei Ivonovitch. Further analysis concludes that he has ties to..."

"That is being enough," stated Misha, cutting her off mid-sentence, "I would not be wanting you to overdo it."

"You desire to exploit my abilities for personal use," stated Chloe, narrowing her gaze in his direction, "The man below is noted to have had contact with you previously in several business transactions."

"I suppose you are having caught me then," replied Misha, throwing up his hands in mock surrender, "Control was not having any real targets for us, so I was having to make one up."

"Under the pretense of this mission having actual significance?" she queried, folding her arms.

"No," he replied, "When was I ever calling this something other than training mission?"

"You simply elected to alter the target to match your own criteria then," Chloe stated, "For what purpose though?"

"He is being legitimate threat," replied Misha, "To who is being a matter of interpretation, however you are not needing to worry about that."

"Very well," she stated, returning her cold stare to the bakery on the street below, "What is our course of action then?"

"Are you having identified target?" he queried, retrieving a large case and setting it upon a table behind her and unhooking the clasps.

"Affirmative," she stated, her eyes taking on a reddish glow, "Preliminary observation suggests that he is presently within the compound accompanied by two others. None appear to be aware that anything is amiss."

"Excellent," replied Misha, removing the components of a rifle from the case and assembling them as he spoke, "So, in your opinion, what is being most efficient course of action?"

"I shall enter the compound via the roof," she stated, motioning toward the rooftop with one hand, "As he is located upon the second floor. You shall provide support and covering fire from here as required in order to insure that none escape."

"Da," he replied, attaching the recoil suppressor to the end of the barrel, "That is being correct, you are having passed basic tactics. Now for strategy quiz: what else shall be needing to occur here?"

"I am uncertain as to you meaning." she replied.

"Be thinking about it," he stated, securing the the scope to the rail atop the rifle, "We would not be wanting to be followed would we?"

"Evidence sanitation," she stated, her eyes widening slightly with sudden realization, "We must make certain to cover our tracks lest we be discovered."

"Precisely," stated Misha, disposing of his cigarette butt by shoving it into one of his pockets as though to illustrate his point, "Be leaving nothing behind."

"We must make certain that the area is clean prior to our departure," she stated, her tone becoming more confident, "The building shall be burned. In the confusion, its inhabitants will mistakenly presume that their associate was killed in the fire."

"A sound plan," stated Misha, setting up a tripod on the windowsill and attaching his rifle to it, "You are getting an A plus."

**Brussels, Belgium; 0500, Local Time**

Barely a ghost's shadow, on the edge of perception, a creeping specter of death leaped to the rafters far above the city streets. Her eyes aflame with crimson hues that were nevertheless, nigh undetectable, she proceeded to an unlocked ventilation shaft atop the roof. Her movements concealed for the present, the huntress dove to the bottom of said shaft, drawing a sizable knife from her belt. She noted the presence of one heat signature upon the mattress as she scanned the room beyond the metal grating, its bright orange and red hues contrasting heavily to the darkened and subdued bluish colors surrounding it.

The grate opened with only the slightest of sounds, no more than what might be made were a rat or insect to do the same. The darkly clad, feminine figure descended to the floor beneath her. Maintaining a crouching position, she approached the bed upon which her unsuspecting target lay. She threw back the sheets, plunging her dagger into what should have been the target's torso only to be met with a wet sound accompanied by a scattering of multiple minute heat signatures upon the floor.

A sudden blow from her left caught her off guard, not leaving enough time to gather her dagger from the bedding. Tumbling to her feet, the huntress assessed her surroundings, now realizing that the heated item upon the bed had been some form of decoy intended to sway her from the actual target. The hulking man before her appeared to have bypassed her thermals somehow, as he was blending into the background with only telltale signs of his presence appearing within her field of vision. The coloration of her eyes shifted once more, this time to a more subtle green hue, and with this shift her visual spectrum came to encompass that of a set of light enhancement goggles.

Another swing from the unknown assailant, this time to be countered by a move of her own. Grasping the attacker by the wrist, she deflected his arm to the side, freeing up enough room to punch him in the throat. The man staggered backward, grasping his neck in a desperate bid to breathe, not realizing that she had effectively shattered his windpipe. The huntress slowly walked forward, stepping behind her would be assassin, and curtly twisted his neck in such a way as to render it cleanly broken.

From across the street a lone sniper observed the display, peering through the enhanced scope upon his rifle. Drawing back from it, Misha took a long drag on his cigarette, she was doing better than even he had expected. He began to dismantle his rifle and restore it within its case when he noted a number of red hues out of the corner of his organic eye. He turned to observe what had been the bakery wreathed in flame.

"To bad about Sergei," he stated, chuckling as he took another drag on his cigarette, "But she is having passed with flying colors."

**Well I certainly hope you enjoyed this installment of Noir: The Conspiracy, my personal twist on the ending of the anime Noir. And with that, Chloe's trial period has concluded. Do stay tuned for the next chapter, I certainly hope to be able to upload it soon.**

**Until next time,**

**Rose Colored Mirrorshades**


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